


Un-Casual

by ScienceOfficerWillowRosenberg (left_handed_moth)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Hangover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 01:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18560722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/left_handed_moth/pseuds/ScienceOfficerWillowRosenberg
Summary: Margo makes breakfast for the first-year that she let crash in her bed last night.





	Un-Casual

Tara was starting to stir.  It wasn't actually that late, as far as mornings after a physical kids party went.  Margo had expected her to still be knocked way out.

"Good morning, starshine," said Margo, sitting down on one corner of the mattress.

"The earth says hello," mumbled Tara.  She looked around.

"My room," said Margo,  "I let you have the actual bed."

Tara gave a weak thumbs-up.  She rolled onto her back, and propped herself up a bit.

It had been bound to happen eventually.  Tara had been wallflowering around every party at the cottage for the whole semester.  She was definitely due for a night of going all-in on liquid courage. And ever since tenth grade, Margo had been a dedicated rescuer of drunk girls who didn't actually want to be at the party.

"Did I do anything em-embarrassing?"

"No, sweetie."

She looked under the covers.  "Then w-where are my pants?"

"Friends don't let friends sleep in mom jeans."

"We're friends?"  Tara rubbed at her eyes.

"If I've held your hair while you barfed and then forced you to drink Gatorade, we're friends."

Tara was bright red.

"Tara, I've seen it all."

Tara said nothing, but Margo mentally filled in her response:  _ yeah, but not from me. _  Which really meant,  _ I don't do that, I don't want you to think I do that, that's not me. _  Margo could tell, and besides, her own philosophy was that everyone spent some time not being themselves.  Take any student at Brakebills--this was not a place for people who fit, or whose identity was effortless. Margo included.

"Am I hungry or am I gonna be sick again?" asked Tara.

Margo shrugged.  "Definitely the first one, probably both.  Either way, eat. You want too many hash browns or too many pancakes?  I'm not really a kitchen girl."

Tara mumbled something that probably wasn't words in the first place.

"If it helps, the pancakes are gonna be from a mix."

"Hashbrowns, then."

"Well, come on, get up.  No way in Hell you're eating in my bed."

"Do I have to get dressed?"

"Sweetie, in this house, that's between you and your gods."

Tara stood up, saw the remains of a spilled bourbon sidecar on her top, and groaned.

Margo took her  _ I can get grease on this _ robe off the door hook, handed it to Tara, and turned around.  Tara gave a noise that amounted to  _ all good, _ and they headed to the kitchen.

The robe fit Tara better than it did Margo.  Put crassly, it was a nice-rack fit more than a nice-legs fit.  Maybe Tara could have it. Margo would think on that one. Your clothes were your armor, and helping someone armor up wasn’t casual.  Margo thought she could be non-casual with Tara.

Margo fetched some potatoes from the back shelf, and started chopping them into whatever-sized chunks.  Tara slumped against the kitchen table.

"So," said Margo, "You do realize that I'm feeding you here rather than walking you somewhere else because I think you're kinda cool, right?"

Tara's head emerged nervously from between her arms.

"Also, you made it pretty clear that you're into me."

Tara got a look of realization on her face.  "Oh no, I...I really..."

"Tried to kiss me, yeah."

"And you're seeing a guy, and I'm just a big drunk mess and..." she swore softly under her breath, and put her head in her hands.

Margo could see how she'd gotten that impression.  "Oh, sweetie, he's not my boyfriend. He's my Eliot.  Also, you're only a drunk mess when you’re drunk. Right now you’re sober and kind of a babe."

The hash browns had started to sizzle.  Margo should have remembered that they had peppers and onions.  She took out a thing of onion powder and a thing of paprika and hoped they'd be good enough.

Tara was in the middle of a face journey back and forth between excitement, disbelief, and some other, unmapped towns.

"Seriously.  You rock the granola femme look, which is  _ very _ hot, and you've got a nice body."  Once again, Margo didn’t talk about this casually.  This was someone’s physical assertion of being here, for fuck’s sake.

"I mean I've heard I'm hot before, but...I dunno, we'd been dating for a few months before she said it and she kinda always left it there."

"Yeah, but I'm guessing she had favorite places to touch."

Tara looked down at her chest.

"Look, if I get into too much detail, I'll sound like some kind of weird Reddit e-dom, but it's not just those.”

Tara blushed, which meant Margo should save it for later.  Either she hadn’t gotten the message or wasn’t interested. Either way, she still needed to get fed.

The potatoes were blackened in a few places.  That meant they were done. She switched off the stove, carved off a portion for herself, and slid the rest of the starch-pile onto a plate for Tara.  "Ketchup?" she asked.

"I like hot sauce."

"Not right now you don't, trust me."

Tara tucked in.  She looked a little disgusted, but Margo had done what she could.  That Tara didn’t stop meant she appreciated it.

“You know,” said Margo, “I’ve seen you cast.  It’s cool. It’s definitely not Brakebills style.  More Mingus than Mozart.”

“Who?”

“Famous composer.  They made a movie about him in the 80s.”

“I meant the other guy.”

“Fucking with ya, honey.  Mingus was a jazz guy. You’re clearly skilled, and not in a classical way, so what’s the story?”

“I...I was a hedge,” said Tara.  “Can I get in trouble for saying that?”

“Nah.  And you must have been a good hedge, ‘cause a lot of hedge work is clunky as shit, and you’re not that at all.  I’m second year and some of it’s a mystery to me.”

Tara smiled, “I can teach you, you know, if you wanna learn from me.”

“We play for different teams, sweetie.”

Tara’s face fell.  Hard. Margo realized she’d just told the hot lesbian she was flirting with that she didn’t swing that way.  Stupid old people euphemisms.

“Shit, no, welters!” she said,  “We play for different  _ welters  _ teams.  It’d be cheating or some shit.”

“Oh,” said Tara.  Margo still wasn’t sure the message of  _ I am interested in you that way _ was coming through at all.  That was okay. She knew how to be obvious.

“I just wanna see if I can top you.”  Tara looked like she wasn’t sure if Margo meant the double entendre.  “Hint hint wink wink,” she deadpanned, to drive the point home.

“That’s kinda my line,” said Tara sheepishly, “I mean, I was normally that, uh, role, with my ex, but you’re not her...”

“Chill, sweetie.  We’ll do it every goddamn which-way.  If you’re down.”

“I am, um, eventually.”

Margo shrugged.  “Legit. Can I ask how come?”

“I mean, I’d probably be okay if we didn’t bring magic into the bedroom.  Except, I dunno, magic and sex kind of always went together. With her.”

Margo got it.  Sharing magic was Tara’s not-casual thing.  She guessed thinking of it like intimacy was better than Eliot thinking of it as a cool curse.

“Magic and sex, huh?  Just like whiskey and pickle juice,” said Margo.

“What?  Ew.”

“I know.” Margo shook her head.  “Fuckin’ hipsters and their acquired taste horseshit.”

Tara had gotten through half of her potatoes.  “Now,” said Margo, “I’m gonna tell you to stop right there.  I’ve been making you talk to keep you eating slow, and we’re gonna see how you feel before you throw more food at your stomach.  And I--” she stretched “--am gonna like back down, cuz I lost a lot of sleep caring for your hot drunk ass. Don’t do anything I would.”

Tara stood up at the same time Margo did.  “Can I come cuddle?” she asked.

Margo smiled.  They were finally understanding each other’s languages. “Hell fucking yes you can.  Just don’t be little spoon. I don’t want any hangover farts on my twat.”

Tara looked puzzled.

“I get ‘em too, babe.  No judgement. I’m just stating a boundary.”

Tara half-smiled.  “You’re kinda crude, you know.”

“Pure as the driven slush here.”

“I like it.”

Margo smiled.  “Yeah, me too.”

They headed back to Margo’s room.  She’d have to make the bed tonight, but right now she could sleep on anything.

“Can I lose the robe?” asked Tara.

“Sure.  Hands off the tits or no?”

“No.  I mean yes.  I mean go ahead.”

Tara discarded her robe and lay down.  Margo lay down facing her.

“You look good from this angle,” she said.

Tara smiled.  Margo brushed a strand of hair out of her face.  She thought of saying that she’d noticed Tara right away, but that wasn’t true.  It wasn’t till the attempted kiss and all the drunk flirtation that she realized this wasn’t just another quiet nerd at the wrong party.  In fact, she was just starting to notice. And she liked what she was noticing.

**Author's Note:**

> I have more ideas for this AU, including stuff with Willow.


End file.
